


Remembering Sunday

by keiti221



Category: Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Depression, M/M, Suicide, Yikes, general sadness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-16
Updated: 2016-03-16
Packaged: 2018-05-27 01:38:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6264481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keiti221/pseuds/keiti221
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based on the song by All Time Low. Bucky and Steve try to create a life after the mess of brain washing and Hydra is over.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Remembering Sunday

**Author's Note:**

> Why write an essay when I could be writing about Steve and Bucky? I previously wrote a story based on this song for another pairing in a different fandom and my best friend told me to do it for Steve and Bucky. I'm glad I listened to him because I love this.
> 
> **The story goes back and forth between past and present - each paragraph is a shift in tense. Figured I'd clear that up before you dive in, though I did try to space it so it wouldn't be so confusing.**
> 
> I insist you listen to the song because it's amazing and it'll give you a good idea how how achy my heart was while I wrote this. And then maybe you can sympathize and forgive me for what I've done.

The echo that follows his footsteps reminds Steve just how alone he is. The large house he once shared with his love is devoid of humanity. The curtains are missing and the fireplace hasn’t been lit in months despite the snowy disposition outside. There’s only a solitary recliner in the living room that used to be filled with three couches. Trudging up the stairs, Steve reaches the top and rests his elbows against the railing, staring down at the vacant rooms. A sour taste fills his mouth as a prickle creeps up his spine. The sadness that he’s kept at bay for the last four months has finally caught up with him. Not even the great Captain America can keep himself from weeping any longer.

 

Seven months ago, he surprised Bucky with this house. Thought it might be everything they needed to make life a little more normal, like it used to be. Perhaps he never fully understood that ‘normal’ isn’t what Bucky actually wanted.

 

With his chest feeling empty of the sorrow that he knows will return, Steve proceeds to tour his own house. The guest rooms have been gutted; the only thing remaining in them is the frame of a bed. He expects the same of his own but finds that it’s far worse. The master bedroom appears to never have been touched. It is exactly like it had once been only four months ago. The tears threaten to burst again as Steve leans against the wall for support.

 

After decades of brain washing, Steve worried that Bucky would never be able to return to normal. Bucky proved that wrong within their first few nights of living in the house. He rarely left Steve’s side, always there to help with the Sunday brunch that Tony insisted they hold at their home. Steve could never guess as to why but Bucky figured it was because their house was a quaint 4,000 square feet to Tony’s 13,000.

 

Finally succumbing to his exhaustion, Steve throws back the dusty sheets and crawls into bed, resting his head against the pillow that used to be Bucky’s. He ignores the pain in this throat from suppressing his tears and eventually falls asleep. The peace though, doesn’t last for long. Within a few hours, he jolts up, chest heaving and screaming for his long lost partner. Trembling, Steve rests his head in his hands and takes slow, deep breaths, attempting to center himself again. He manages to cease the shaking but his clammy skin is a tell-tale sign that he’s been having nightmares again. Glancing at his phone, he realizes that’s just past 2:30 in the morning; Sam might be wondering where he is.

 

The longer the time Steve spent with Bucky, the more he realized just how burdened the brunet allowed himself to be. He didn’t think of marriage or kids or a future for himself because he was afraid of what he’d become. Steve never failed to follow up his worries with the increasingly tired ‘your past does not define your future’ spiel. Bucky would listen for the first few minutes before disregarding the whole thing, claiming that a monster cannot be rehabilitated.

 

To this day, Steve cannot comprehend why Bucky thought of himself as a monster. Was he a weapon? Of course, but the monster is the man that used an innocent person to inflict harm throughout the world. The thought of Bucky’s guilt, and how heavy it was, troubles Steve. He knows he’s done things that aren’t the best, but he did it in order to protect people. He still does. Leaving the bedroom, Steve descends the stairs and finds himself wandering toward the kitchen. Everything is covered in dust, even the walls seem to be caked with it. He grabs a bar stool and sits in the middle of the room, wondering what the hell he was thinking coming back here.

 

Bucky loved Steve’s gift of the house. Frequently, he’d display his gratitude by hauling the blond upstairs and showing him just how much a little normalcy meant to him. More often than not, they wouldn’t even make it to the bedroom and there were plenty of dents in the kitchen furniture to prove that. Life started out as cheery as a breezy summer day, unfortunately, as the weeks passed, Bucky’s demeanor shifted more towards that of a hurricane. He became increasingly troubled by his past actions and what he’d done under Hydra’s control. His frustration built up and he’d lash out at Steve for pretending that life could be normal for him. Eventually, he wouldn’t even show his face around the house, sunk so far into a depression by the realization of how many lives he’d personally destroyed.

 

Steve glances around the kitchen, a bittersweet sensation washing over him. The kitchen remains a reminder of the great joy that he once felt in this house, yet also reminds him of those last few weeks and how dark the place seemed. He only wished the best for Bucky, never imagining it would end up like this.

 

A thunderstorm overtook the county that weekend. The rain certainly seemed to have no end. Steve arrived at the house after a mission with his team, drenched because of the torrential downpour, however, still eager to see Bucky again. He removed his coat at the door and called out to the brunet. Only silence responded. A knot formed in the pit of his stomach. He called out again, hurrying up the stairs. Reaching their bedroom, Steve found it empty, save for an envelope on Bucky’s side of the bed. Heart racing and hands quivering, Steve opened the letter, reading it carefully. A terror washed over him as he finished. He dropped the paper and bolted for the door, forgetting to grab his coat as he ran for Bucky’s favorite place in town.

 

Steve becomes restless sitting and decides to take a walk. He watches the sky as he strolls down the street. The grey clouds stir in front of the moonlight, swirling around the stars as a calm breeze moves them along. Without paying attention, Steve walks nearly three miles. He scans his surroundings, realizing that he’s a block away from the beach.

 

There he was, standing at the end of the pier. It was a quarter past midnight and the coast was empty for as far as the eye could see. He was leaning over the railing, watching the black water slosh against the boulders below. Steve approached him carefully, unsure of how his temperament would be.

“Bucky…?”

The brunet turned slowly, clearly shocked by Steve’s arrival. “What are you doing here?”

“I found your letter.”

Bucky words were angry, tinged with sadness, “But you weren’t supposed to find _me_.”

Steve took a step closer. “How could I let you just run away like this? How could I let you do _this_?”

Glancing down at the pistol in his hand, Bucky avoided Steve’s worried gaze. “I have to. I’ve made too many mistakes.”

“Why? You’re not the only one who has messed up! Shit, even the Avengers have fucked up badly now and again.”

Suddenly angry, Bucky couldn’t control his tears. “You don’t get it! You make a mistake, you take a life, you do anything that I’ve done and you’re regarded as a hero. People love you, and they forgive you for your blights. I’m a _monster_. I’m a freak. My tragedy is this _damn arm_. If people recognize me, they run in _fear_. I’m cast out because of the lives I ruined and I can’t take that anymore.” His lower lip quivered. “I killed an entire family once. They had three kids. A two year old son.” His voice broke over a sob and tears rolled down his face. “I can’t live with what I’ve done anymore.” Hand shaking, he lifted the pistol to his temple. “I’m sorry Steve.” He sniffled, blinking away the tears. “I love you.”

 

The sickening pop of the gun reverberates in Steve’s ears as if it were just yesterday. He slumps forward, heart aching as he realizes at the end of the pier is a tiny memorial. The half dead chrysanthemums hold a wadded up letter in their midst. Steve plucks it from the dirt and unfolds it. Poring over the words, he finds that a little girl wrote it, a nine year old, struck sad by the death of the man who once pulled her to safety. At the end of the letter she drew a picture of the burning car she was trapped in and the shining metal armed man that rescued her. Steve folds the note back up and returns it to its rightful place. He openly weeps, body trembling as he falls to his knees in front of the memorial. Pulling a photo from his back pocket, Steve reminisces about the fair that day, back in 1941. Bucky wanted to go, so they did. He sighs, the nostalgia taking a heavy presence among his already deep sadness. Kissing the picture, Steve places it among the wilted flowers.

“I love you too, Buck.”


End file.
